


Kamikaze

by zombiekittiez



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst with a less Angsty Ending, Beryl - Freeform, Dark, Dark Betty, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Maybe happy ending?, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Physical Abuse, Twin weirdness kinda, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, i dunno.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiekittiez/pseuds/zombiekittiez
Summary: “I walked into a door,” she says breezily.“You are seriously not even trying,” Kevin says suspiciously. “Is this a Jughead thing?”“No,” Betty checks her red lipstick in her compact mirror.“Are you going to tell me, or...?”“No.” From the corner of her eye she sees Cheryl sitting very still and very alone. There's a black ribbon holding her white blouse closed at the throat. Through the sheer fabric Betty can see a dark place, upper arm, fingerprints.“No. Huh. Will I figure it out anyway?"“Probably,” Betty says agreeably.





	Kamikaze

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing like a little mutual destruction. 
> 
> WARNING: This is darker than my usual fare, there is mental and physical abuse.

Everyone likes Betty Cooper. She's pretty and sweet and smart and athletic- she'll bring cookies for your bake sale, cheer you on at your games, lend you her Biology notes which are color coded in gel pen for easy review. If someone asked you point blank if there's a perfect person in this world, neat and tidy and admirable, no more than the most basic and minor of human failings you'd say no, no way but your mind would flash to blonde hair and blue eyes and an easy smile on an open face and you'd think well, _maybe._

She's a great equalizer, Betty Cooper, kind of girl who can get broody loner Jughead Jones to string up Homecoming banners next to Reggie Mantle jerk fuckboi extraordinaire with minimal bloodshed. She turns a smile on you and it feels genuine, like you've earned it somehow, like you can't possibly be all bad after all, not with a girl like that turning a face like that your way. 

When it ends, it's rough and it's awkward- she holds her head up in class and takes notes still but she's quiet, Hermione Granger subdued, and she doesn't walk down the part of the hallway his locker's at but when she does have to pass him she gives him a shy little smile because she's not punishing him, no, she wouldn't do that. 

“It was never going to work out, Betts. I can't open up- every little thing, every hiccup it feels like the world's falling apart and you deserve better, you're so good, you're so much better, you're so  
you're so  
you're so  
_perfect."_

She cries enough to show she cares without smothering. Avoids him enough to spare him without ostracizing. Talks him up 

“No, V, he's right, I kept letting him down, my expectations were too high and we were such good friends-” 

“Kev, it was my first real boyfriend, no one stays with their first real boyfriend, he was just being _practical-_ ”

She is a model ex-girlfriend. Even in rejection, she is flawless. She only looks sad in lonely places- the library, the track field after sunset, the post-game locker room.

“Get up,” Cheryl says. “That floor is fucking filthy and you'll ruin the uniform.” 

Betty sits in the corner between two rows, legs stuck out at awkward angles. She starts, surprised, looks up.

Cheryl glares down, unimpressed. Betty scrambles to her feet, self consciously tugging down the short skirt. It's alarming, almost, how flat Cheryl's face can go when she looks at Betty- that her lips, ridiculously crimson and painted far past the natural lines can melt into perfect thinness whenever they make eye contact. There was that day, out of spite, when Betty and Cheryl got mani pedis, when Cheryl artfully made up the planes of Betty's face, straddled her lap and had a real conversation about the mystery that affected them both. It had been nice while it lasted. Betty likes being liked. 

Betty hangs back, leaning against the lockers and waiting for Cheryl to gather her things, to flounce out of the locker room and leave Betty to finish brooding in peace. Everyone else had gone but now Cheryl seems to be in no hurry to leave. The Vixens leave together, a sleepover. Neither receives the invite. Betty sits on the bench, pretending to fix her hair bow. The tension grows. 

“Quit lurking, you are such a creep!” Cheryl explodes, turning to face Betty and dropping her duffle bag. 

“Why are you being so mean to me?” Betty asks, a little breathlessly, absently wiping the tear tracks from her face.

“Because you're pissing me off! Crying in the locker room, putting on a brave face- you don't even _like_ that fucking guy and you're acting like a Nicholas Sparks movie. You are so fucking fake you don't even know that you're faking it, you genuinely think that this is who you are and how you feel.” 

Cheryl steps forward until there isn't much space between them, until Betty's back is against the wall, until she can smell the perfume and sweat of Cheryl, expensive, heady, as the redhead leans above her.

“Even your bullshit with Chuck was self righteous teen virgin vigilante. If Veronica didn't buy your good girl guise you would never have dared. You'd still be a dorky little pink sweater vest parroting back whatever mommy and daddy say – a sentient TV Trope. Even an idiot like Archie can see you've got nothing going on below the surface. Who is ever going to love someone who isn't even a real person-" 

It's like  
a switch? 

Like pool lights that turned colors until suddenly the water wasn't blue, it was green, or purple. Red. 

Betty's hand over Cheryl's mouth. A step, a pivot- the thud, as Betty slams Cheryl against the lockers so hard that her breath escapes, that Cheryl bounces a little in her hands. Betty squeezing too tightly and Cheryl's eyes, enormous, soft. 

“Shhh.” Betty says, almost lovingly, as Cheryl squirms. “You don't get to do that. Say the worst thing you can think of and go all soft and doe eyed when someone fights back.” 

Betty shifts her weight, presses Cheryl down into herself, twists her wrist a little, following the wince. 

“I could snap your fucking neck, Cheryl.” Betty says conversationally. “No one would even care. They _can't_ care. You walk into a room and say whatever fucked up mess will get you attention. You're like a spoiled kid with a terminal disease. We're just waiting for you to die. I can do anything I want to you and no one will ever believe it. I might not be real- but they think I am. I chose to be good.” 

“Y-you aren't good.” Cheryl spits out between Betty's fingers, the motion of her lips leaving a cool glide of gloss and lipstick there. Cheryl, panting hard, little short breathes, pupils dilated. 

“Are you afraid of me?” Betty muses. 

Something in the way Cheryl shifts her weight- thighs together, shoulders back. 

“You're not,” Betty says, voice delighted. “You like this. You sick little _fuck._ ” 

Cheryl trembles with rage. 

No. 

Not rage. 

“I wonder if it's a control thing,” Betty says, mostly to herself. 

“What are you going to do?” Cheryl asks, voice dropping a little, husky. 

“Me?” Betty shrugs and drops her grip. Cheryl rubs her wrist absently but otherwise keeps still. 

“I'm a good girl, Cheryl. I'd never hurt anyone.” Betty leans against the locker, arm casually blocking the way to the door but not fully. Cheryl could duck under, walk around. Push Betty a little off balance and out of the way. 

“Tell me to let you leave. Ask.... nicely.” Betty drawls, heady on the moment. Her heart beating fast in her chest and she can feel herself getting flushed- the long sleeves of her cheer uniform constricting her, the high neck strangling her. 

Cheryl drops her arms to her sides. She seems to think a moment. Outside, the sounds had all died out. The crowds gone, the field lights dimmed. 

Cheryl meets her eyes. 

“Fuck you.” She says. 

Betty smiles. 

~~

Afterwards, Betty walks home alone even though it is dark. She's not afraid. She could call someone - Archie, Jughead even- Kevin's dad would have sent the patrol around, if she had asked but she doesn't ask. She feels like someone, something else inside this people skin- like the cheer-leading uniform was part of her disguise as much as a sweet face, as a high perfect ponytail. 

At home, she sits at her vanity and removes her make up- what was left of Pretty in Pink Gloss No. 5 overlaid with Bad Blood No. 25 which is on her lips, her neck, the sleeve of her uniform. Other places. 

She takes a shower, even though it is late because she smells heady and expensive. She sees a bruise on one shoulder, a bite mark, scratch marks raking down her back and thinks to herself to be sure to wear a high necked shirt. 

So fake. So unbearably fake. 

She sets out her clothes almost absently while her hair dries. She sleeps well and deeply.  
~~

When she comes into school on Monday, she puts her sweater into her locker and walks calmly to Biology, books and assignment tucked neatly under her arm. 

“Your hair-” Kevin starts, then takes a second look. 

“Problem?” Betty asks sweetly. 

“N-no.” Kevin says hesitantly. “It's nice down. I didn't think you even owned a black tank top. And - is that a bruise?” He reaches up to push her shirt a little over, to take a better look. She lets him for a moment, then shifts out of his grip with a grimace. 

“I walked into a door,” she says breezily. 

“You are seriously not even trying,” Kevin says suspiciously. “Is this a Jughead thing?” 

“No,” Betty checks her red lipstick in her compact mirror. 

“Are you going to tell me, or...?”

“No,” Betty says, putting her make up away and taking out her assignment. From the corner of her eye she sees Cheryl sitting very still and very alone. There's a black ribbon holding her white blouse closed at the throat. Through the sheer fabric Betty can see a dark place, upper arm, fingerprints. 

“No. Huh. Will I figure it out anyway?"

“Probably,” Betty says agreeably. 

If Betty had any doubts they end when she walks out of school and Cheryl is waiting in her red convertible, top up, sunglasses on, staring straight ahead. 

“Subtle,” Betty says, getting in the passenger side seat. Cheryl doesn't say anything until they get to Sweetwater River. 

“Morbid,” Betty remarks. 

“You'd think so. But he didn't die here. This was the last place I saw him. He was happy and we were going to see each other again. It's like he might be here still, show up while I'm waiting. It's a good place for me.” 

They put the top down, listen to the rush of the river. 

Betty waits. She didn't feel guilty, angry- for once she feels calm, like she had poured something into Cheryl in that locker room that she hadn't realized she'd been carrying, hadn't realized she didn't need anymore. 

After some time, Cheryl picks up Betty's hand. 

“You have ugly nail beds,” Cheryl says. 

Betty flexes her hand a little, her skin so much darker, her hands bigger. 

“Strong, though.” Betty says, unaffected. “Did you really bring me here to talk about your brother?” 

Cheryl puts Betty's hand on her thigh, on the black skirt and the pale skin there.”Yes,” Cheryl says. Betty slides her hand down, then up. Rustling cloth. A deep breath. Cheryl tenses. 

“Look at the river and think of Jason,” Betty advises, nipping at Cheryl's ear. 

~~

“Is this a new look for you?” Veronica notices eventually. She brings it up in the school bathroom, between periods. “I thought you might just be having an off couple of days, but you're really dressing like this on purpose.” 

“Mm,” Betty says, checking her eyeliner in the bathroom mirror. 

“It suits you, I guess, I mean- you have a good figure, you can get away with almost anything but the whole grunge t-shirt, tight little skirt thing- your mother hasn't flipped?” 

“She flips,” Betty assures her. 

“And that lipstick- what is that?” 

“Bad Blood No. 25.” There is an instant, a flash of recognition, of suspicion. Betty speaks first. 

“You want a copy of my Calculus notes? That test is next week. I color coded the section on derivatives for you, you got a 75 on the mock quiz for those.” 

Betty is, after all, still Betty. 

“Yeah.” Veronica shakes her head a little, just to clear it. Veronica Knows People. She knows she has seen Betty at her absolute worst. This is... nothing. Denial, Dismissive. “Yeah, thanks.” 

~~

Cheryl walks through the halls like a ghost. Her hair is less vibrant. She isn't even wearing lipstick (except sometimes, she wears it a little sloppy, a little smeared, no lip liner) and she doesn't need powder she is pale, exquisitely so. She finds Betty every chance she can get. 

She pulls Betty into the Blue and Gold office, gives her a little shake, pushes her against the desk. 

“Fight back,” Cheryl snarls. “Fight back or it isn't-” 

Betty's hands are a loving curve around her throat. She rubs the back of Cheryl's neck gently, working out the kinks. 

“It isn't what?” Betty asks, curious.

Cheryl punches her in the eye. 

Later, as Cheryl pulls up her skirt with shaking hand, gasps in wide, desperate noises for air as she rubs the redness around her throat, face flushed from the aftershocks, Betty looks down at her mildly. 

“Not the face, please.” She says primly, but she is not fucking around and Cheryl nods but is not sorry. 

~~

“I know what you're doing,” Jughead says without preamble. She is walking home from practice so her hair is up, she is primly dressed. If it wasn't for the lipstick and the shiner she'd look like his Betty, from before, and it's enough to turn his stomach. 

“Do you?” Betty answers faintly. Cheryl had been giving her looks all practice, her insults and directives ringing a little shrill, a little hollow today. But Jughead had been waiting outside to speak to her and she had breezed by the red convertible and she found that she did not feel a loss, that she feels no better or worse for the change in company and wonders at that. 

“Betty, look at me.” His hand comes up to cup her jaw like old times, to turn her face in his hands and she bears it placidly, his heavy fingerprints on her skin and wonders if he had felt the same detachment, the same distaste when she had done that, turned his face this way and that to check the bruise left from Chuck's fist, to show love and concern unwarranted, unnecessary. She counts to ten and pulls away. 

“Betty.” He looks stricken. Perhaps she should have counted to twenty instead. She isn't very good at this anymore. She's out of practice. 

“What is it that you think is happening?” She asks patiently. 

“You and Cheryl... the lipstick, the bruises. You're hurting each other on purpose. I don't know why. Is it- is it something to do with you? Why you hurt yourself sometimes?” He is trying so hard and she is wondering a little, that little bit inside of her that was still Betty sometimes, why he hadn't tried that hard for other things. 

Well. You can't love something that isn't real. She is being too hard on him. 

“She started it,” Betty says, examining her nails. “She can end it any time.” 

“My fucking god- are you, are you _listening_ to yourself?” Jughead's hands come up to touch her but he reconsiders, tugs his beanie over his ears a little, makes fists. 

“I don't care- I don't care about Cheryl Blossom, she is a goddamn mess, she is self destructing at an alarming rate, I don't give a fuck about her rich girl downward spiral but this is killing you, Betts- not the same way, no, but that you, you're losing it, you're losing _you-_ ” 

Cheryl pulls up next to the curb and she looks at Betty. This is a choice she is making. This is not a secret anymore not so much as secrets go, anyway. Betty is lousy with secrets. They grow and multiply, hide too long and reveal at terrible times. She is tired of secrets. 

“Are we doing this?” She asks Cheryl through the open window. 

“Get in the fucking car,” Cheryl says, eyes wild behind $700 sunglasses. 

Jughead tries. “Betty, fuck, don't-” 

_Perfect_  
Perfect  
Perfect __

____

____

Betty gets in the car. 

~~

“Sometimes I think I was just scared, you know? Like I didn't want to lose you or let you down. I wanted... I don't know what I wanted. I don't know what I want. I didn't want to hurt you.” Archie talks earnestly. They are in his garage and she knows, vaguely, that Veronica has put him up to this, that Kevin and Jughead and Veronica are somehow working together on this, appealing to Betty's better nature, to something they miss but can't explain- something more than pink lipgloss.

She agrees to come because it's inevitable, and because it will stave off going home for a while where the atmosphere is so tense and sharp and frightened (please don't be Polly I love you don't fall apart don't hate me go to your room young lady) that she tries not to be there before dark if she can help it and it's somewhere to go besides Cheryl though eventually, Betty knows, she will probably go there too. 

Her grades are excellent. She was entered for a scholarship for her latest article series. She is always in by curfew. Surely this is a fuss for nothing. 

She realizes a response is expected and gives one automatically. “I know, Archie, it's all okay now.” 

“It's not, though? Something is.” He shakes his head. “I don't know, I'm not good with words like Jug or good with people like Ronnie, I just want to help. Can I help you?”

“It's not your fault,” Betty reassures him. “It's really not. You can't help it.” 

His brows furrow, mouth drawing down in an effort to understand. 

“You can't fall in love with someone who isn't real,” Betty says, like it explains everything. She half expects him to protest, or to ask what she means but his mouth drops open just a fraction like he gets it, like he really gets it for a second. 

“Everyone else is real?” He asks after a minute, in a little kid voice. 

“Mm.” Betty agrees. “ _We're_ not real, so we're not hurting anyone. Not really.” 

Archie nods. She doesn't know what he tells the others. They say hi in the hallway. Kevin partners her in lab. Jughead turns in articles to the paper. But they back off.

~~

It ends as abruptly as it began. 

They are behind the sports shed, where the cameras don't reach. They are kissing, just kissing for a moment, Betty's hand reaches up beneath Cheryl's shirt, stroking along her spine when she sees it. It's just a bruise, like so many others. It's turning from purple to yellow, like an iris on a watercolor. 

She did that.

It isn't horror or shock or disbelief. Just assurance. Betty's hands drop to her sides. 

“What?” Cheryl asks. “What?” 

Betty's hands pass over the injury lightly. It's not even the worst thing they've done to each other but this is somehow the worst- that it's pretty. That it isn't fresh, that this is still happening- that this is the longest relationship she has ever had and it is the ugliest thing she has ever done. 

“I can't.” Betty says. 

“What the hell do you mean, you _can't?_ ” Cheryl's voice raises an octave. 

Betty shrugs, turns away. 

“You don't get to call the shots here, Cooper!” Cheryl shouts at her back. “I say when this is over, this goes until I let it go!” 

“I'm not going to hurt you anymore,” Betty says and it's a promise. 

“Fuck you,” Cheryl hisses from behind- close. Too close. Betty turns into the brick coming down. 

~~

Betty tells the doctors that she fell. 

“You're not even trying, are you?” Kevin asks, bringing a vase of flowers into the hospital room. They are daisies and she moves them close to her bed, so she can see them when she wakes up. She is bruised in lots of places- purple and black with clotted blood, but her face is untouched. Betty figures fair is fair. 

“It isn't a... boyfriend or whatever they think,” Betty says, feeling vaguely guilty. “It isn't going to happen again.” 

Kevin watches her closely and seems to be satisfied by what he sees. He sends a quick text on his phone. She gives him a look. 

“Just giving the all clear,” he says lightly.

Archie brings hyacinths, turning blue to pink. Veronica has hothouse roses, yellow and white. Jughead brings a milkshake. 

“Strict diet,” she says a little longingly. “No dairy on these meds.” 

Jughead drinks it, pragmatically. “You know what we like about you?” He asks, out of the blue when he finishes. 

“Not much,” Betty says frankly. 

“It hurts you to hurt someone.” Kevin says, arranging the flowers attractively in the sunlight. 

“You're a good person.” Archie says, tripping over himself in sincerity. 

“You turn all your bad feelings inside, on yourself.” Veronica sits on the edge of Betty' bed gingerly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Thing is, Betts. This.... thing you're doing, trying to be everything to everyone. That's probably fake. Most people are a little, it's how society functions. But we _chose_ you. We love you, in a lot of different ways, and you don't have to go back to ponytails and cashmere sweaters but we want you- to be you- with us. Don't self destruct.” Jughead's eyes full of earnest affection and it occurs to her suddenly that Cheryl wasn't all right all ways, and maybe she _had_ loved Jughead, as much as you can love someone who doesn't know you well, which is probably a lot. 

“I'm not sure what's real,” Betty admits doubtfully. 

They figure it out. Eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a little different. Feedback, please.


End file.
